


Jealousy, or Something

by FromFanToStan



Series: First Times [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Poor haz, Smut and Feels, mostly feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromFanToStan/pseuds/FromFanToStan
Summary: Harry and Zayn are messing around, but not with each other. They have feelings about it, or something.





	1. Chapter 1

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, the first time Zayn feels it. It hits him in the solar plexus, making his stomach muscles twitch and then burn. His face flushes, and he shakes his head in befuddlement. He is not a blusher; growing up with three sisters took care of that. His dad taught him how to control that telltale rush of blood to his cheeks.

“Zayn. It warms you, don’t it? ‘Ts how you know what’s happening and what to do about it. At first, your stomach twists like, and then it feels hot, and then the blood starts rushing up to your face. The trick is to stop it in your belly. If you feel your belly starting to twist up and your face starting to get hot, think about summit else, yeah? Maybe the way the bathroom smells when I’ve been in for my morning constitutional.” Yaser laughed loudly at that, but Zayn nodded at him seriously. He’d try it.

He didn’t have long to wait. The very next day Doniya saw him come downstairs in his best button-down shirt, short white sleeves, ironed to perfection and tucked into his best jeans, worn to show his pretty brown arms. Zayn is a bit vain about his arms. The skin is perfectly smooth and flawless, and the shape is nice, not like his skinny legs. He’s hoping that at least a bird or two at his first real high school party will notice, maybe kiss him, maybe more.

“Oi, Ma! Zaynie’s on the pull! Come look!”

Zayn felt the familiar twist in his gut and took a big breath in, imaging the smell of Yaser’s shit hitting his nostrils as it did every morning when Zayn, as the only boy, got second shot at the bathroom before the girls took it completely over. It was really bad whenever his ma had made her chicken karahi especially spicy. 

It worked. Just thinking about the smell of that bathroom took his mind off of sex, which was what mostly made him blush at fifteen. He still remembered raising his eyebrows at Doniya. “Did you say something?” he asked coolly. 

“Nothing, just youse all dressed up, innit,” Doniya muttered before turning back to the TV in the front room. 

Zayn had to think about shit a few more times before he had his blush completely under control. There was the time that his mom asked him what was that mark on his neck, and then when The X Factor was a real thing that was happening, and he had been moved into a houseful of hopefuls. Louis took one look at him after he’d worked his hair into a proper quiff and screeched, “Zayn’s gonna be the heartthrob! Look at him!”

He almost blushed then, but he reckoned that boys in a band were like sisters. You couldn’t give them a sign. “More like than your ugly mug, Louis,” he shot back. 

“You wish! Look at these baby blues,” Louis shouted, widening his eyes as much as he could and thrusting them an inch from Zayn’s own golden browns, and both the blush and the moment passed.

Zayn doesn’t get embarrassed, hasn’t done in years. So when he’s slipping outside for the smoke he saves for the end of every day, to calm his nerves and give him an excuse to be alone and away, he can’t immediately explain why he blushes when he sees Louis pull Harry in to him with both hands firmly on Harry’s pert sixteen-year-old bum and then suck Harry’s left earlobe, the one that Zayn can see clearly, between his straight white teeth. He is close enough to hear Harry’s little gasp, and that’s when he blushes. He quickly backs away before either of them sees him.

He slips out the back door and into the garden on the side of the house, careful of his feet on the gravel path and grateful that he has grabbed a cig and his lighter. He’s not supposed to smoke; it’s even in his contract, so he makes sure a pack lasts him a week, doling out two or three a day when he can reasonably sneak away. They help him. He and Danny started at their first high school party, years ago, on a dare, but only Zayn found that after the dizziness of the first few smoking was pleasurable and relaxing. He couldn’t afford to buy them, really, but Yaser smoked and didn’t miss the occasional one.

He stands out in the cool night air, drawing on his smoke, wondering what he just saw and why it made him redden. Maybe he is embarrassed to see two boys do something that looks sexual to him. Both Harry and Louis, but especially Harry, brag all the time about girls and how much pussy they’re all going to get when they win X Factor. Zayn doubts it. He’s had exactly one girlfriend in his life, and he was always too nervous to get past a gentle squeeze of a boob. He doesn’t suppose that being on TV is going to turn him into James Bond. So why is Louis sucking on Harry’s ear and touching him on his arse? Worse, why does Harry seem to like it?

Zayn watches Harry, just as he had planned after that night he found Harry in tears. Louis is loud, and Niall is funny and cheerful, and Liam is kind and a bit too earnest, but Harry lights up a room. Zayn sees his mop of curly hair, his wide green eyes, his deep dimples, and all those help, they add to the package that is Harry, but he has something, something that Liam wishes he had and that Louis apparently wants to eat up. All the boys are fit. Zayn is too, even if he gets described as the “exotic” type, which he would hate as racist if he weren’t so horny. But Harry has something Zayn has only seen once before, when he was in school, and even then at about half the wattage. Harry makes you _look_.

By the time his cigarette has burned down to the filter, Zayn has decided that Harry and Louis are embarrassing, and he hopes they don’t keep doing anything like what they were doing. It isn’t his business, but Zayn would just prefer if they didn’t.

****

*******

The first time Harry feels it, he guesses it’s his own fault. It’s not like he’s let Zayn know how he feels, how he gets the zizzles. Harry and Louis snog all the time. Among the boys, he and Louis don’t really hide. If they start in their shared room, Niall always gets up and finds something else to do somewhere else, like practice his guitar. He’s getting pretty good, and Harry feels a certain pride that he is helping his friend grow as a musician. Louis never grabs Harry when Liam is around, and anyway Li goes to bed first of all of them. In some ways he’s so serious that he seems like he should be the over 28 group instead of with the rest of them.

Harry would not want to admit it, but all he and Louis have done is snog. Louis will grab his ass, or squeeze his dick when he sees Harry has a hard-on, but if Harry tries to put a hand down Louis’s pants, somehow Louis always distracts him. Harry’s getting interested in girls again. He’s pretty sure they won’t stop his hand or distract him if he reaches down their pants.

Zayn’s not having any problem, apparently. Harry rounds the corner one night and catches Zayn in the hall with Esther from Belle Amie plastered against the wall, legs spread and grinding against Zayn, whose tongue seemed to be halfway down her throat. Harry had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from saying or doing something. Esther’s legs are bare; Harry can't see Zayn’s hand, but it has to be up her skirt, because she is moaning, “Oh, God, like that, don’t stop,” over and over.

Worst of all, before Harry can get himself completely out of sight, he sees Esther hike Zayn’s top up, and then Harry can see his nipples. They’re pretty, almost brown, smallish, but not too small, just right, like everything else about him. Harry wants to lick them. He wants to push Esther, hard, and take her place, with Zayn’s tongue halfway down his throat, and Harry’s hands down his pants, gripping his tiny ass. 

Harry blushes and spins himself around, back into the front room. Jesus. Why did he think Zayn was bi like him? Zayn had definitely been touchy, and Harry has been getting hornier and hornier between pining over Zayn’s pretty eyelashes and cheekbones and Louis being such a prick tease. He needed to find a girl of his own, and he resolves to do just that.

He has a chance with a fan, the very first night they're back in London. He manages to sneak her into Simon’s office backstage after the show, and he manages to get caught. Did he want to get caught? Simon yells at him, tells him he has to think about his image now, how he’s supposed to be the sweet one. Harry doesn’t say that everyone is pulling, because whatever he is he doesn’t rat out his friends. He thinks maybe he did want to get caught, because every time he snogs with Louis or with someone else in the house or with a fan, he imagines Zayn and Esther, and his stomach twists and knots. If he didn’t know better Harry would think he’s jealous, but he never gets jealous. People get jealous of him.


	2. Jealousy or Something, Part Everything Is Awful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn and Harry are having lots of sex, so why is Harry so frustrated? Rating updated to explicit for this chapter.

“Whoa, Harry has been in full on strop mode for days,” Louis says as he plops himself down in the seat next to Zayn. “You need to do something. Like, why aren’t you petting him like you were? It settles him right down.”

“Ha, yeah, the last time I touched his hair he very politely but firmly put my hand aside, and then when we were off camera he told me not to touch him again. Anyway, you’re the one who wants to fuck him.” 

Zayn isn’t usually so blunt with an opinion, but honestly Louis and Harry look at each other like they’re in love, and it’s annoying. If anyone should be solving the Harry problem, it’s Louis.

“What the fuck?” Louis sputters, “I don’t know what you’re on about. Harry and I are friends.”

“Ok, sure. You grab your friends’ arses and lick their ears. Why do you never do that to me, Louis? Are we not friends? I’m hurt, to be honest.”

Louis has the grace to blush. It must be something in the water, all the blushing with this bunch. Just that morning, Harry had grabbed Liam’s crotch in the breakfast room, and Liam had turned a shade of red that was almost purple. What was **wrong** with Harry, anyway?

“He’s so cute, Z. It’s like, I’m not gay. I don’t even think I’m bi, but Harry is just--I don’t know what it is about him. I do want to fuck him, but I know if I ever did it would destroy our friendship and maybe the band, and anyway I have a girlfriend. He starts it most of the time, anyway.” Louis sighs and says, “Let’s go smoke.”

They do, and Zayn drops the subject of whatever is wrong with Harry and whether or not Louis is bi, although if he catches Louis with his hands on Harry’s ass again he is definitely going to have to be stern with him. He wonders if maybe Harry is just so hot for Louis that it’s making him act like an idiot even more than usual.

Fortunately, Zayn is pulling like crazy these days, and it means he is pretty much always in a good mood. He notices Harry--it’s a habit now--but it’s back to the way it was before, sort of detached, Nothing To Do With Me. Not my problem. 

The weird thing is that Harry is pulling too. The closer they get to the finals of X Factor the more attention they get, Harry most of all. He’s got that innocent face and that dirty smile. They were getting to Zayn for a bit there, but then Harry started fucking every girl on the show, every production assistant, and every fan he could sneak backstage, and Zayn was all, just, whatever. Too much drama. That sweet boy who cried on his shoulder is gone, and the replacement is not an improvement, if anyone wants Zayn’s opinion.

Louis never wants to sit after they finish smoking, and he’s bounding off to do whatever Louis does when they have a bit of time off work, but Zayn feels lazy and unmotivated this morning. He allows himself to think a bit about Harry, not that it’s his problem, because no way, but he is interesting, isn’t he? He has taken lately to walking around the house in only his pants, which gets everyone’s attention, even Zayn’s. Harry’s body is just ok, right, Louis has a better bum and Liam has prettier pecs, and Niall has more shapely legs, but what is it about Harry’s body?

Zayn wonders if it’s just that there is so much of it on display all the time. It’s hard to ignore, like if you want to notice Louis’s bum you have to look specially, but Harry’s bum is always just _there_ since he’s prancing all over the place bum out whether you want to see it or not. Zayn knew a girl like this back in Bradford, and it turned out that her stepfather had been diddling with her, but Harry is a boy, and if anyone were diddling with him Zayn’s pretty sure he’d be bragging about it. Not that that would make it right. Why is he thinking these things anyway? It’s just Louis is right. There’s something about Harry that makes Zayn unsure if he wants to punch his face, suck his dick, or wrap him up in a soft blanket to cuddle. 

Anyway, not his problem, not his problem, not his problem. The thing is, he kind of wants to fuck Harry too. He’s just really really fuckable, is the problem.

****

*******

Harry is _furious_. He is living the dream, really he is, but why can’t he have anything he actually wants?

Last night a production assistant pulled him in a tiny office he hadn’t even known existed, yanked his pants down, murmured, “Is this ok?” and swallowed his cock whole. He tried to warn her when he was going to come, which was probably a full ninety seconds later, but she just patted his thigh with the hand that wasn’t fondling his balls, and he shot his load down her throat, which is something no girl ever had done for him, ever. They always make you pull off, but this was his life now, and why didn’t he love it?

He had apologized, blushing, but she just swallowed hard and said, “That’s ok, pretty baby, your come is delicious.” He didn’t even know girls talked like this. He thanked her, because Anne Twist had raised him right, and then he awkwardly departed, cursing his luck. Was she going to want to do this all the time now? He didn’t even remember her _name_.

__

__

Louis keeps looking at him like he wants him, but Harry is not going to risk rejection again, thanks ever so much, so he stays on the other side of the room whenever Louis is in it, and he sits on the other end of sofas when the band is being interviewed. He looks, too, but he won’t try to touch. Louis seems content for it to be like this, damn him.

And Zayn. Fucking Zayn. Ever since he found him plastered to Esther in the hall he’s never without a girl at night. Harry wants to cry from it, because Zayn is so pretty and he’s good at sex, Harry can tell. He feels like he isn’t having to work very much himself. Every girl seems to want to give him a blowie, which is great, but he’s useless after he comes, and this is not who he wants to be. Jesus. He just wants to get Zayn alone, and ask him politely for sex lessons, so that he can do to Zayn whatever Zayn did to Esther. He wants to make him moan, “Like that. Don’t stop.” 

For his part, Zayn seems happy all the time. He does every promo and sits for every interview, and he’s always smiling and teasing the other boys, and asking “Vat’s happening?” in that stupid accent, and the last time he tried to reach for Harry’s head to pet his hair, Harry had just firmly pushed his hand away, because how much does he have to put up with? Zayn never tries to kiss him or rub against his arse, even though Harry has pretty much stopped wearing clothes in the house. He looks good naked, he has always heard that. Gemma’s friends used to catch him leaving the bathroom after a shower, and they would always whistle at him, and say, “Gemma, when did little Hazza get so _hot_?”

Apparently he’s not good enough for Zayn or maybe any boy, and he wants more than anything to have sex with one, preferably Zayn but at this point he doesn’t feel picky. Oh who is he kidding? Zayn still makes him breathless, and he wants more than anything to kiss him and lick Zayn’s plush lower lip before shoving his tongue inside Zayn’s mouth for hours before finally licking all the way down his body to his dick, which Harry can barely imagine because Zayn never even takes his shirt off around anyone. That’s how mean he is.

The worst thing of all is that in spite of girls giving him head almost every night he is wanking just about every night too. He alternates between imagining Louis fucking him and sucking Zayn’s cock. Even when he comes he just feels like he’ll never be satisfied.

So if he’s not that sweet these days when the cameras aren’t rolling, who can blame him? Really it’s Zayn’s fault for not noticing what he’s doing to Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the dear reader who asked for more chapters about Jealous!Zayn and Jealous!Harry. They are quite fun to write.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes a move, even if it's not the one he wants the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been said many times but bears repeating. This is a work of fiction. As far as any of us knows, the real Harry and Zayn were never even friends, and I have borrowed their personas for scientific purposes only.

“What is wrong with you, Zayn?”

Zayn squints at Harry, who has almost sat on him on the bus. “How long do you have?”

Zayn is pretty sure that having anxiety is not good for a pop star, and if left to his own devices he might never leave his house, so he has agoraphobia or whatever it is, plus he is too small for a man, like his waist honestly is smaller than most girls, and it makes him feel unmanly somehow. On that subject, he’s too emotional and too touchy with the boys. Sometimes they complain that he gets them hot and bothered being so touchy. Did that mean he’s gay? Are they all gay? Why couldn’t he leave their bums alone? Clearly, he is a worrier, and this also isn’t good. Harry skips through the days, carefree and charismatic, expecting the best and getting it, while he can’t figure out what to do with his hands on stage. Just look at him sitting here worrying about basically everything in his life that isn’t his family. Wait, nope, he worries about them all the time. Better call his mum just in case something has happened. He is startled out of his reverie by a hard elbow to the ribs. Ouch.

“Just look! I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re off in your head somewhere! What the fuck, Zayn! Why won’t you pay attention?” 

Harry looks about as irritated as he ever does, which means he has a little furrow between his brows, and the corners of his pretty pink lips are pointing just slightly down. On anyone else, it would look like mild concern, but Zayn has watched Harry enough to know that he has to be pretty irritated to let that furrow settle. Normally he smooths it over immediately and shows his dimples. Zayn stares at him, clueless. “Well?" Harry demands, "What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What did I do, Haz? I was just sitting here trying to get a wee kip on the way to the venue, minding my own business, not bothering you that I’m aware of, and you’ve already broken a rib on me, yeah? Maybe, like, what’s wrong with you?”

“Ugh!” Harry grabs the back of Zayn’s seat, since he is more on Zayn’s side than his own, and gracelessly throws himself out into the bus aisle. “I fucking hate you, Zayn, really I do.”

Zayn watches bemusedly as Harry manages to stomp for the two steps it takes him to get to the seat next to Louis, where he throws an arm around Louis’s shoulders and plants a wet kiss on his check. “Louis, do you love me?” Harry shouts. Well, maybe it wasn’t an actual shout, but it’s too loud for the small bus carrying just the band, Zayn thinks.

Louis sighs into Harry’s shoulder. “You know I do, Haz, but fuck off! I’m trying to get a nap, aren’t I?”

They had all been out late the night before, a rare night when everyone felt like going out after the show, they had a hotel to go back to, and nobody had scheduled a call with a girlfriend or parent or business manager. These were rarer these days; it was sad, wasn’t it, that they weren’t together as much now. 

Zayn had pulled as usual; so had Harry, as usual. Louis and Liam were both being faithful, they said, but they spent the evening grinding on each other on the dance floor of the private club, so what counted as faithful anyway? 

Zayn was pretty sure Niall had pulled too, but he was a sneaky bastard. One minute he was there, laughing and pulling funny faces, and the next he was gone. Zayn never saw him leave a club. The only way he knew Niall ever had sex was that once he had seen a girl with streaky makeup and her heels in one hand scurrying from Niall’s room to the elevator. She was so intent on watching her feet that she didn’t even see Zayn, who marveled that Niall let his girls sleep over. He never did. Neither did Harry.

Last night they had met in the open doors of their rooms, seeing their girls off. Harry was giving his a long kiss and promising to call, which was an absolute lie.

Zayn’s girl had turned to look back at him, like, do you want my number, or will you call me, but he had smiled and said, “See ya!” before closing the door firmly and frankly not too far from her face. He sort of hated Harry for making him look bad and for being in his door in only his pants. He was shameless, really. For his part, Zayn had pulled on track pants and a tee shirt before letting his girl out. No reason to traumatize their security, who put up with a lot anyway.

Again Harry startled him out of his daze, this time by planting himself in Zayn’s lap and putting his mouth against his neck. His warm breath made the hairs on the back of Zayn’s neck prickle.

“Hey, you know I don’t really hate you, right? Let’s go out tonight, just us. We can pull together. Do you want to share?” Zayn gives Harry a quick side glance to see if he is kidding, but all he sees is a smirk and a challenging look. He shrugs. Harry is never boring. 

He doesn’t know how he feels about sharing, though, and he suddenly realizes that it might not be the girl he doesn’t want to share.

* * *

It makes Harry sick, honestly. Zayn acts like he discovered sex and now he has to plant his flag on every hill, so to speak. It makes Harry go all restless and moody every time he sees Zayn with a girl, which he covers up by being even more manic and happy acting than usual. He saw Zayn only briefly last night, when they happened to be saying good night to the girls they pulled. Harry hadn’t bothered to put on anything but his pants, and since he was only two doors down from Zayn he first felt and then saw Zayn’s scowl as he kissed his girl goodbye and took her phone number. He always feels like it’s only polite to take a number; by now his phone is full of girls’ names and numbers. He doesn't remember any of them. He didn't know why Zayn was scowling at him, but he supposed it had something to do with his being mostly naked. 

If he could, Harry would never put clothes on. Even a soft thin tee irritates his skin. He is wanting all the time now, bursting with desire and longing, and the girls keep him from exploding but do nothing for his fantasies of feeling Zayn’s stubble against his cheek or, better, against his thigh. He knows that he’s a lot. Zayn is usually tolerant of his mania, will laugh at his bad jokes and take up for him when Louis gets irritated with him, even though Harry knows Zayn doesn’t like how he and Louis act around each other. He doesn’t either, any more. He thinks, somewhat irrationally, that he is hurting his chances with Zayn by fucking around with Louis, but he has to feel a boy’s body against him. He just has to.

They have a full morning and the early afternoon with nothing scheduled, and yet Zayn never emerges from his room. Harry goes down to breakfast by 8. It doesn’t matter how late he’s up. He’s always been an early riser and a morning person, and he doesn’t usually drink that much when they go out. He doesn’t need that much sleep, anyway. What is being young and famous good for if you can’t be awake for it? He doesn’t get Zayn. He sleeps constantly and then yawns behind his hand on stage. On stage! The idea of it baffles Harry.

And now that they’re on the bus to the venue for sound check, Harry is unable to stay in his seat. He sees that Zayn is already starting to nod off two rows back, legs stretched out into the aisle and headphones on. For fuck’s sake. Harry will not stand for this another minute.

“What is wrong with you, Zayn?” he asks as he hurls himself into the seat next to him. Every day he promises himself that he will keep his distance from Zayn, and every day he is pulled into his side. It makes him quite grumpy, but he is unable to control himself. 

Zayn looks past him thoughtfully as if Harry has asked a real question. Harry feels even more put out, because Zayn always takes him seriously, and what Harry wants is for Zayn to forget himself, to shiver at Harry’s nearness the way the fangirls do. He wants Zayn to melt into his side, but instead Harry always does the melting. 

“Forget it, Zayn! It wasn’t even a real question! I fucking hate you, really.” Harry throws himself over Zayn’s legs and staggers up to Louis, who is always good for a snuggle and never takes Harry seriously. 

“You love me, don’t you, Louis?” He knows Louis will say yes and is startled when instead Louis tells him to fuck off. 

Harry spends every night being adored. He soaks up the crowd’s love at every show and yet it never feels like enough. He had no idea how much love he needed until he began to get so much. He thrives on and is made whole by the way the girls scream his name, hold up signs that should embarrass the parent that is usually not too far away. He sticks his tongue out at the prettiest ones, sometimes gestures that they should open their tops for him, laughs when they sometimes do. He marvels at how easy these girls are, how willing to do as they are told, when a pop star is doing the telling.

But then the show ends, every night, and the boys are less and less willing to indulge his need for continued attention. They all have their own business managers now. They are looking at properties and managing their social media. It’s boring, really.

Anyway, Zayn is the one whose attention he wants, and usually Zayn will give it to him, but he always has to ask. He is seized by the sudden desire to change the game somehow. Before he can decide whether this is a good idea, he returns to Zayn’s seat, but this time he plants himself in Zayn’s lap, over his endearingly skinny legs and against his bony hips. He puts his lips up to Zayn’s ear and breathes. He wants more than anything to run his tongue around the rim and bite the lobe, but instead he just says, “Zayn. Let’s go out tonight. Let’s pull together. Can we share, Zaynie?”

He hopes for a big reaction of some kind, shock or disgust or lust, but instead Zayn’s eyes narrow, and something flashes in them briefly before he shrugs and says, “Yeah, alright. Why not?”

Harry feels his dick stir in the track pants he always wears right up until show time. He wants to say to Zayn, let’s forget the girl and the going out, but he can’t. He will share, because a bit of Zayn is better than none, any day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We are in such a drought with the real boys this fic is borrowing that it has done me some good to at least write about them since apparently they are quite happy staying invisible.

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm missing something you'd like to see, I'd love to hear form you in the comments.


End file.
